


Pandora

by savethetribbles



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savethetribbles/pseuds/savethetribbles
Summary: Leonard, Jim, and Spock struggle to recover from the aftershocks of a mission that brings out the best and worst in them.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a previous fic (Canary in the Coal Mine).

The Enterprise was 1,311 days into its five-year mission, and five weeks into an extended effort on Remopia. Remopia: a central trading location with a high concentration of zenite and an absolute wasteland. The same resource that made the planet of interest at all was its downfall -- the zenite underground releasing a toxin known to induce intense paranoia and inhibit emotional restraint. It came together to create an environment unconducive at best to the Enterprise's current reconnaissance mission: how to de-escalate animosities; opportunities for industrial and economic progress; how to sow the seeds for the transformation of Remopia into a future port for Federation use.

Captain James Kirk spent most nights around that time wide awake in his ready-room, reading through his crew's research. As a man and a captain, Jim was an optimist, a believer. But now, at 0100 hours, he felt as despondent as he had during a walk home in Iowa, late-night, down flat roads surrounded by corn. He willed the unwelcome but familiar dread away from his mind only for it to return in spades, whispering to him that he was too late. He closed his eyes and immersed himself in the world drawn by his crew’s briefs -- the fractured groups, the instability. And Bones was there in the vision, every night, tossing and turning.

* * *

Chomping on the bit of this new opportunity, Jim had sent a crew of five down to Remopia's largest center, Woudros. He himself, of course, along with McCoy, Uhura, and two members of Security.

Only thirty minutes after the away team was published, the captain received a personal comm from Spock: _I wish to discuss your choices for the away team at your earliest convenience._ Spock found Leonard and Jim together in Leonard's office, hours later, message unanswered. Two glasses of brandy were on the table between them.

Leonard greeted Spock with a smile and the gentle brush of their fingertips; in his experience, it was always best to lead off with a small dose of sweetness. But it took no time at all for Spock to revert, guard up — professional.

"You never responded to my request.” Spock took his fingers back from Leonard to stand straight with his hands behind his back, clearly irritated.

They had the same conversation every time Jim placed himself or Bones (or god forbid, both of them) on an away team without Spock. Something about Jim's proclivity for self-sacrifice and bold action based on gut instinct, and Leonard's at times obstinate sense of Right and Good coupled with an unwavering sense of duty and loyalty. It was clear to the two of them, Jim and Leonard, that Spock, despite his refusal to admit it, saw himself as their guardian since the three had bonded. Despite his emotional mettle and exceptional professionalism, the Vulcan could not resist the argument, no matter how spurious, that his presence alongside the two of them was essential.

Jim met Bones' eye and grinned a small thing. Leonard stood from his seat and pulled Spock toward him, sat splayed on the edge of his desk. Spock frowned and Leonard watched his pulse jump, felt his partner’s blood bump inside of his own body. He pressed Spock’s palm to his stubbled cheek, guided Spock's fingers to cradle his temple. Spock's lips parted and Jim watched his chest rise and fall with a deep breath.

Jim’s head clouded as the room took on a gauzy quality, an aura like a halo around the two men in front of him. He took a sip of his brandy.

"It's OK, honey." Leonard pressed his lips against Spock's hairline, intoxicated by the heat, the brush of Spock’s unexpectedly soft hair against his nose. “We’ll be right back.”

Spock broke, relenting. The creature of fear and anger began its retreat to the recess of his mind but he felt it still alert in him, ready. He turned his face into Leonard's neck. “Yes,” he agreed. He exhaled against the image of himself as a young child watching his mother walking away from him, the fear that she would never return. There was a tension as he compensated for the shame of those feelings, the vulnerability.

Leonard felt the memory, indistinct and shapeless, against the slope of Spock’s back, rippling under his skin. “Come here,” the doctor ordered, sweeping it away with his kiss as Spock turned his face up, the blue fabric of his shirt wrinkled under Spock’s clutch.

The sound of Jim’s glass being sat back on the desk loosened the spell.

He slouched in his chair, hand rubbing against the command gold of his chest, as Leonard and Spock looked toward him. He took in the long, sleepy grin on Leonard’s face and the stone of Spock’s with only his eyes glowing, black and hooded. Spock’s hair pressed against Leonard’s cheek and Leonard’s hands idly roving around his back. And Jim laughed, disarmed by them and unbelieving as always, before he stood and moved towards them, drawn like a moth to the flame.

* * *

In retrospect, the initial experience on Remopia foreshadowed a mission that would, to Jim’s mind, tend closer and closer toward failure. The information gained from previous reports, a year old at most, was irrelevant by the time the captain and his crew arrived. They wore the wrong clothes, the translators’ accents were wrong -- and while they weren’t identified as aliens, they were identified as _other_ , and were hunted accordingly at every turn.

Uhura reported that it would take her communications team weeks to create the necessary adaptations for future parties to pass planetside, to blend in. Security reported cases of extreme hostility in the face of slight provocation, Remopian against Remopian, Remopian against self, Remopian against nature. Jim reported evidence of chemical attacks in addition to traditional armed warfare, the landscape pockmarked and torn open to reveal mineral wealth, ingredients literally seeping from the earth.

Leonard was eventually able to position himself with security member Overmyer in the epicenter of Woudros, slinking and silent, to get a sense of the people, their wellbeing.

Jim would find himself overcome with anxiety, alone in his team’s tent, grabbing for the PADD with footage streaming from Bones’ bodycam. His foot bounced against the earth as he watched the crowded streets around Leonard, the downturned eyes of the humanoid Remopians, their paces quick and glances fervent, alarmed. The power of the bond that Spock had given them was a mystery to Jim, and as he sat there he wondered about the darkness he felt -- whether it was his own or Leonard’s. He wondered if Spock, so far away, had a sense of it, too. He would try to meditate, but the zenite prevented him from doing anything more than stew. But he would only know that had been the case later.

One afternoon while Jim was reading through his daily technical updates aboard the Enterprise, his gut lurched so violently that he choked on his breath. His body screamed out for Bones, and he fought against the venom of panic as he grabbed for his PADD. He thumbed to McCoy, Leonard’s footage, and found there the shaky vision of a young girl being ripped from an older woman's arms, absolutely distressed, surrounded by men. Batons came out, beating back the woman and smashing the little girl's hands as she reached, desperate. "Get your hands off of her!" Jim heard through the feed, shocked at first by the words in Standard.

He ripped his communicator out of his pocket. "Stand down, McCoy!" He watched the feed jut sideways as Overmyer grabbed Leonard's arm to pull him away. "Get out of there!"

The bodycams cut and Jim, drugged by the planet, planted his hands against the table in front of him and breathed heavily. “Enterprise, Kirk here. Report on McCoy and Overmyer."

“Wyler here, Captain. Alive. Elevated stress indicators but no signs of life-threatening injury. They seem to be involved in a chase.” Behind closed eyes, Jim saw Lieutenant Wyler sitting at the security monitor on the bridge, saw Spock sitting in the captain’s chair staring straight ahead.

“Eyes sharp, Wyler. Transporter room, I want Doctor McCoy and Ensign Overmyer beamed aboard if and when any life-threatening injury is sustained.”

“Transporter room here, Captain. We cannae lock on to their signals. There’s too much atmospheric interference."

“Captain.” Spock’s voice. “I must advise that order is also in direct violation of the Prime Directive.” Jim imagined a thread of weariness in Spock’s voice, the tremulous strain of being proved right in the worst situation.

“Then let’s hope they run fast, Commander. Make it happen, Scotty. Kirk out.”

* * *

Leonard and Overmyer returned to base three days later, having camped out for half of that time to shake their shadows. Uhura and her security detail had beamed aboard the Enterprise a day earlier when the moment presented itself. Jim had stayed behind, starving for the moment Bones took shape in the distance.

Overmyer’s arm was broken, slung up against his chest by the doctor. Leonard looked ready for a Halloween ball in a raccoon mask, eyes black, the lower half of his face dirtied by sweat, dust, blood. Jim stared at him as he and Overmyer recorded their logs. They waited for the Enterprise to take them home. 

“Bones,” he whispered in the dark landscape outside of their tent, thoughtful to Overmyer sleeping behind them. Leonard’s face had been scrubbed clean but the injury seemed so fresh to Jim, traumatic to him. He kissed around Leonard’s neck and felt the mess of the doctor’s internal state swell out and wrap them both in a blanket of thorns. Jim grimaced against the discomfort and Leonard scrubbed his short nails through his hair.

“Captain, Scotty here. Your patterns are coming through. You can prepare to beam aboard.”

“We’re not done,” Leonard croaked, dropping his hand away from Jim’s hair.

“Acknowledged, Enterprise. Kirk out.” Jim stood and held his hand out to Leonard. “We are for now, Bones. Get up."

Less than a minute later the three men stood in the clearing by their tent, Overmyer’s head hanging groggily. “Three to beam up, Scotty."

And as the light filled the space around him, Jim’s gaze was drawn as if by a magnet to his left to find Leonard looking back, face blank, eyes withdrawn. In materialization they were the same, more exposed by the light of the transporter platform, and Jim felt his eyes squint against the stare. He opened his mouth to ask Bones what it was but was interrupted by Scotty’s whoop, the rushing sound of medical as they approached. And Leonard was already looking at Spock, anyway.

The air around Jim seemed to snap into place, and he trained a wide grin out to the room. “Great to see you, Scotty,” he crooned, jaunting off the transporter to clap Scotty on the shoulder. Spock’s eyes were trained on Leonard, and in his periphery Jim watched the Vulcan evaluate the doctor, a thrum of panic radiating in a steady pulse. Scotty was talking to him but Jim could only hear Leonard waving off the medic in front of him, the sound of his eyes rolling under Spock’s scrutiny a secondary noise filling the room.

“Welcome back aboard, Captain,” Spock finally acknowledged, turning towards Jim with a slight bow in his neck. “Doctor. Ensign Overmyer.” Jim faced Spock fully with the intent of a comforting smile, something to help ease the awkward discomfort noticeably emanating from him. Spock cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders back. “Captain, Lieutenant Commander Scott, we are to join the senior staff. Doctor McCoy, please join us once Doctor M’Benga has cleared your injuries."

Leonard grunted in acknowledgment but Jim could feel something like relief in him.

* * *

“The first thing to do is to acknowledge the danger of zenite,” McCoy laid out, stubbing his finger against the conference table. “It has poisoned every single Remopian for generations. The effects are social and physical. They’re unwell. Hell!” He gestured towards himself, to Jim and Uhura. “Even we were unwell, and we were down there for no time at all."

Jim looked up from the report in discussion, from the chart showing the fluctuation of his team’s anonymized internal systems in the hands of every senior officer aboard the Enterprise. In the clean, filtered air of the Enterprise the effects of the zenite wearing away made him feel exhausted, such that he could hardly look at a screen for a second more. He glanced over to Spock. The commander was still committed to staring down at his PADD, refusing to look directly at Jim or Leonard, refusing to provide any commentary thus far.

“What do you propose, Doctor?” Giotto asked. He made eye contact with the other officers around the room. “The Enterprise almost lost its captain, its chief medical officer, its chief communications officer, two of my finest security men, and this mission hasn’t even started. We have, what?, two more weeks left before we head to our next destination?”

“Four more,” Scotty offered, counting on his fingers.

Giotto took in Scotty’s information with a soft hum and turned back to the captain, leaned forward in his chair. “We should handle this mission from the Enterprise, Captain. The situation planet-side is too volatile. We get what we can, give it to Command, and get out of here."

McCoy scoffed, incredulous, and Kirk took in the sight of his two officers, opposed and symmetrical, at either side of his table. He needed a drink.

“We came here to do a job, Captain,” McCoy argued, brow furrowed over a nose not yet totally healed, eyelids dark with fading bruises. “In the process of that job we’ve also found ourselves a race of people in real deep need. They’re hurt, Jim, sick, real bad. Now I don’t expect we save them today, maybe not even the next decade, but we use every minute we’ve got to get as much information as we can toward that goal. We can’t do the same work up here that we can down there, you know that. I damn well know you know that, Giotto.” McCoy looked up at the security chief, accusation and disapproval heavy on his breath. “We stay, we go planetside. We request an extension from Starfleet to do it right.”

Jim felt the weight of Spock’s palm rub against his pant leg after Leonard’s speech, felt the weight of his measured movement to put his PADD on the table and fold his fingers like a temple in front of his chest.

“Captain Leonard McCoy, everyone,” Jim teased, smiling crookedly to ease the tension in the room. A few chuckles resounded and settled back into silence as Jim leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

“Doctor McCoy is right,” the captain decided finally, standing from his seat and steadying himself with fingertips pressed against the table. “We work planetside on this to get the intel Starfleet needs. We don’t go in yet, though. Use the week to get us ready. The medical staff makes sure our crew is protected from zenite poisoning. Uhura, Communications makes sure the translators that go planetside are attuned to the sensitive dialects. Security works with Engineering and Sciences to make sure the research teams that beam down are prepared for what they’re getting into, as well as what they’re looking for. Giotto, you’ll choose a few men to go planetside as well. Scotty, Engineering better be able to get anyone on the surface back the second I say so.”

“Aye,” Scotty said, in echo with the acknowledgments of his fellow officers.

Kirk stood to his full height, straightened his shirt, and looked softly to Leonard. “Doctor, you’ll lead the away team."

Both Spock and Leonard turned quickly to the captain, disorienting him with their onslaught of divergent emotions. “Captain,” Spock began sharply, pressing his hands flat against the table. “I -- ”

“Dismissed,” Jim interrupted. “Thank you all for your time.”

* * *

Leonard was pouring himself a second knuckle of bourbon by the time Spock and Jim had really started going at it. 

“I am not upset, Jim,” Spock said, hands behind his back, eyebrows in his hairline, perfectly composed. “You are projecting because you feel self-conscious at my critique of your decision.”

“That is absolute bullshit, Spock,” Jim laughed derisively, a habit that Leonard hated. “You know we can feel you inside of us, right?” (“Don’t drag me into this,” Leonard drawled, sipping his bourbon and slouching against the replicator.) “You can’t just claim to not have feelings anymore. I announced Bones was leading the away team and you might as well have been Scotty when Keenser smashed his 200-year-old Glenavon!” 

Spock recoiled, unnoticeable to the outside observer, caught off-guard as always when he remembered how the bond exposed him, too. He glanced at Leonard, embarrassed. Leonard stared back at him and then downed the rest of his glass, able to refresh it immediately by virtue of his hiding spot. “I believe you are overestimating my reaction, Captain.” 

Jim gasped and Leonard barked out a laugh, shocked. Spock immediately corrected himself, providing a softened, “Jim,” with a chastened bow of the head. “I simply mean to say that Leonard is a poor choice when I could go in his stead. I hold the distinction of Chief Science Officer aboard this vessel, and I am … ” he glanced between Leonard and Jim, troubled to find the right word for his unpopular sentiment. “... hardier.” 

Jim shook his head and bent down to grab his drink. He saw his mother, clear as day, arguing with him, explaining why she had to go, why she had to be in space. It took him a lifetime to understand her. But he never forgot the betrayal that came with thinking she left to be away from him or the tiny voice in his head that told him to go to be closer to her. 

“Did you mean it, Spock?” Leonard asked out of the blue, looking down into his glass.

Spock faced him, and as surely as he turned Leonard could feel the wave of dread, the knowledge that he was to be opposed against Leonard in addition to his contest with Jim’s decision. “Please clarify your question.”

“I read in your report that you objected to the captain’s order to beam me aboard if I was critically injured since it contradicted the Prime Directive.” (“Oh god, Spock,” Jim sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “This again?”) Leonard grinned weakly at Spock. “And I’ve just been wondering, even now that we’re bonded and you could maybe descend into madness if I died … would you still choose to let me be killed?”

Jim swallowed thickly and a pain radiated out of Spock that left their quarters noticeably cooler in its wake. “Leonard, I -- ” They watched him twitch as if to reach out, caught in a rare moment of fumbling. “I would do anything to keep you safe, both of you. That is why it is so important for you to stay here, to let me go -- ”

“Spock,” Jim interrupted, shaking his head once to cut him off. Leonard sat his unfinished bourbon on their counter. 

“And that’s why I’m going,” Leonard said, an air of finality around his words that froze Spock’s defense. “Because you can hardly inspire a sense of motivation and duty, let alone dignity and camaraderie, in your _bondmates_. The team will need a leader, Spock. Not just some damn robotic superman telling them the right way to take soil samples.” 

A chill settled across the bond, and the next noise to fill their quarters was that of Leonard shuffling off to the bedroom, the sound of his legs tangling in their sheets. 

“Spock,” Jim said again, this time calling to him, his voice gentle. He moved in behind him and wrapped his arms around his stomach, pressed his face into the fabric of his Science blues. “I’m sorry.”

A weight tumbled over inside of the Vulcan and Jim felt a barrier rise around it, blocking him from view. “No, do not apologize. I -- ”

“-- am in love with a person whose life is at risk. Who almost died like 60 hours ago.” Jim rubbed his hands up Spock’s chest, pressing him back with the strength he had left. “It’s OK.”

Spock began to soften against him. “The reunion has gone better under similar circumstances.” He sighed. “I’m extremely displeased by tonight’s events.”

“Yes,” Jim agreed, continuing to pet Spock’s stomach. “But it’s never too late to change the situation. Bones is just in the bedroom, after all. The same bedroom we both need to be in soon if we’re going to get any sleep tonight.”

“Leonard does not want to share a bed with me tonight, Jim. You should be with him.”

Jim sighed and turned Spock in his arms, fighting against his reluctance. “Bones wants us both in our bed, I assure you.” He kissed him then, chaste, settling his hands loose on Spock’s hips. “Maybe don’t insult his hardiness again, though.”

* * *

Jim was roused from sleep by the sound of a whisper before their alarm. It was indistinct and followed by the unmistakable sound of a soft kiss, the sound of a shirt sliding up against skin, the wispy shudder of Bones breath when he was desperate. He carefully turned toward the sounds, reaching to touch his own chest through his shirt, to feel the strum of his bond at his heart.

Spock’s hands were at Leonard’s back, under his shirt, so that Jim could see the skin only up to his wrist, his fingers hidden from sight but plainly made out under the thin fabric. The blanket was bunched at Leonard’s waist and Jim watched his hips jump so slightly that he might have missed it if the habit wasn’t burned into his brain, if he couldn’t feel the compulsion to do it seeping out of Leonard like a potion, encouraging Jim to do the same.

“I love you,” Leonard whispered against Spock’s lips, pressing one palm against Spock’s shoulder for purchase and using the other to cradle his face, to stroke his ear. “When I was on the planet you grabbed my hand and helped me run faster. You saved me.”

Spock’s breath jumped noisily and he jostled Leonard’s body closer to his own, needing to pull him inside of his ribs, needing to put him in that snug, safe place. “Leonard … ”

“If I’m cold I think of you and I’m warm, darlin'.” Leonard kept his honeyed voice soft, quiet as a mouse to protect Jim’s sleep, but his breathing was ragged and fast as he rubbed himself against Spock’s hip. “Spock, baby -- ” he kissed him again, moaning like a secret into his mouth, their tongues sliding together. “You’re inside of me.” 

Jim winced at a sudden sensation of being run through, the heat of the moment filling an unexpected, dripping wound in his stomach. He couldn’t help but gasp as Spock froze in Leonard’s embrace, startled as a deer. 

“Spock?” Leonard ran a hand over Spock’s hair, rubbed his back. He felt Jim move closer to him until they were pressed flush, Jim’s hand sliding over their hips until it dragged up Spock’s side and settled on his heart. “He’s shaking, Jim.”

“I am frightened,” Spock said, his face hidden in Leonard’s shirt, consumed by the scent of his sleepy skin. “You both … terrorize me. I cannot lose you.”

The moment settled heavily over them. Leonard saw them as they were a year ago when the bond was new, clutching to each other, distraught, for what felt like an entire day. It seemed like the intense fear and relief would drown him then, and he was relieved when it faded. But it never had. It was always there, always waiting to consume them. 

“That’s love.” Leonard's voice was clear. “We signed up for this masochism when we decided this whole freaky thing couldn’t wait any longer.” Jim laughed wetly behind him, and Leonard felt the press of his lips against his shoulder. “Spock.”

Spock looked up, feeling chastened again, to find Leonard smiling down at him. Jim propped his chin on Leonard’s shoulder and reached up to run his fingers over Spock’s jaw, around the curve of his ear. Leonard turned slightly to kiss Jim and asked: “The good with the bad, right, honey?”

* * *

"I miss Bones," Jim said to Spock one night in his ready room, two weeks after they had said goodbye to Leonard in their quarters and then cordially again in the transporter room. Spock hummed but didn't look up from his PADD.

Remopia was proving to be a stress test on the captain and his crew. The most present and devastating anxiety was the crew death, Jim's nightmare. First it was a communicator glitch, a dead giveaway, that saw one of his sociology team run through in the street. Next it was the general warfare, Giotto's prophecy, a firsthand account of Remopia’s biochemical tendencies. It killed four members of the science and security teams in a territory close enough to Leonard’s station in Woudros that Jim lost sleep for two cycles. Then it was a sociologist, A’yani, desperate to make headway with a citizen, to warn them -- publicly executed again as a person of suspicion in a society of suspicion who had dared to touch the flame with her open palm. 

Six crewmembers dead, all of it happening too quickly for them to be saved by the Enterprise, to be saved by McCoy. The doubt and dread ran so thick in the air that Jim hesitated to breathe too deeply lest he choke on it. 

Yet the away team had, if anything, gained heart towards the effort. To crack the code about what it took for a people to choose to save themselves, to turn away from the trap of their planet, to turn away from the hate and distrust it wrought. Leonard’s briefs, the briefs of his team, had the effect of both inspiring and crippling the ship's captain and its first officer. Jim would’ve felt proud if didn’t feel so useless, estranged, prowling around in the atmosphere.

"Did you hear me?" Jim demanded, looking straight at Spock until he lifted his face to meet Jim's stare.

"Yes," Spock replied blandly. He sat his PADD down and continued looking at Jim, expressionless, with his hands clasped in front of him on the table.

"Can you talk to me, please?" Jim drew in a breath he didn't realize he needed and carded a hand through his hair. "I feel … lost.” He trailed off, looking at Spock for anything, eyes softened by fatigue and frustration. “What are we doing, really? What is Bones doing down there, and what are we doing up here?”

The room fell silent and Jim stared at Spock, waiting. When nothing came he rolled his forehead down into his hands. Jim saw himself in his father’s place, the captain’s chair, watching his ship burn. 

"The Enterprise will fail on Remopia because we are not occupiers or regime creators. We are explorers." Jim looked up to Spock and found him gazing out a viewport, hands still crossed, face still calm. "My recommendation is to submit an appeal to the Federation to realign with the initial timeline."

“I’ve considered that myself.” Jim sat up straighter in his chair, shook his head. “But we can’t ask for an extension and then back away without the requested treasure. That’s fleeing.”

“Do you believe there’s any additional ‘treasure’ on Remopia, Captain?”

Jim didn’t respond and instead drummed his fingers against the table. “I believe Bones does.”

Spock nodded and stood to move closer to Jim, toward the head of the table. Once settled he reached for Jim's hand, took it in his own, and looked back towards the viewport. “Leonard’s mission is never done.”

* * *

"It's unrealistic," Bones said through a stream, face dirty and back hunched against a torrential storm outside his thin tent. A hazmat grade mask covered his mouth and nose. "Jim, we only started our research two weeks ago. I have crew in every major territory on this planet. Command thinks that they can not only immerse but also institute fundamental change in a total of three weeks planetside when just days ago they were happy to give us six?"

"It’s a reflection of the good work you’ve already accomplished, Bones." _And also I recommended to the Admiralty that the mission be restored to five total weeks_ , he didn't add.

Bones stilled for a moment on the other side of the feed and took a breath before continuing. "No, it’s not that. We’ve barely accomplished anything in relation to the scale of what there’s left to do.” He paused, staring past the recording and into the canvas of his shelter. “Jim, this crew was sent down with a job to do, and they were told they had Starfleet’s support to do a thorough job as representatives of the Federation. This crew recognizes an opportunity to open a door towards a new future for the innocent lives on this planet, and they were told Starfleet did too. That you did."

"Starfleet told them that they are in deep space to explore new worlds and new civilizations,” Spock intoned. “They were told that what they are doing now is procuring a new commercial trading partner for the Federation that will become relevant sometime in the next century.”

Bones t'ched, pained."Shame on you, Spock. It’s your crew dying for this cause, too, you know.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Spock’s eyebrow raised and he leaned slightly back, shoulders straight. “Which is precisely why I think the usefulness of the mission has run its course."

Leonard glared at him, but time was precious. “Jim,” he pleaded. “I'm just asking for you to approach the admiral one more time. Try to talk a little sense. We’re not asking for forever. Please, tell me you'll talk to her."

Jim hesitated, glancing over at Spock and then back to Bones with a tight smile. “Yeah, I'll talk to the admiral. We'll see what there is to do. We, uh. We love you."

Leonard rolled his eyes and nodded, smiling slightly under his mask. "Yes, Captain." He nodded towards Spock. "Commander," he bid curtly. “McCoy out.”

* * *

But Jim had no intention of speaking to the admiral, and the only thing that mattered to Leonard McCoy, day in and out, was that his team had one week. One more week to give everything they had to understand Remopia, understand its people, and come up with a strategy to help them survive. One more week to pull some Jim Kirk bullshit and save lives. And maybe, Leonard prayed, they’d get a little more time at the end of it. 

Leonard worked more consistently and sleeplessly since he had cured death. They must overcome the effects of zenite. His team looked in on themselves, looked in on their resources, and hoped desperately: protective equipment. The Enterprise crew members had the luxury of contact filters for their eyes, but goggles and masks would have to suffice for the Rempoians for now. But how?

Leonard positioned himself in a manufacturing unit in Woudros, praying for the same luck that had saved his ass so many times before. The plan, messy as a chicken coop, was to introduce the specs for a minor weapon (a nasal cavity irritant, if anything, almost nothing more than a mild pepper bomb) that necessitated the soldiers carrying it wear a mask to "protect themselves." Leonard hoped the magic was in its simplicity. Of course, there was the implication of introducing a weapon to a civilization characterized by war -- but the time for second-guessing had expired days earlier. 

It’s a new weapon, you see, he explained, eyes darting between men he supposed to be his superiors, their eyes darting between each other, weapons clutched. He asked them to watch. He tested a small sample of it on himself, pointed to his leaking eyes, leaking nose, and cough as evidence of its potency. Once the reaction had calmed he walked through a doorway, turned to them through a window, covered himself, and then dropped a canister to the ground. It blew, he could see the smoke around him -- but nothing, no reaction. Of course, he thought, but he was eager enough to take in their reception that he found himself impatient to return to a small room crowded with armed Remopians. 

Leonard offered them the protective equipment, his heart pounding in his chest. He was mindful of the casual drag of his fingers against their skin, careful not to seem threatening. They let him. Him, Leonard McCoy, Weapons Manufacturer. And with days left, he watched with a tortured mix of pleasure, hope, and disgust as Woudros' warriors hurled pepper bombs into their neighboring territory, masks and goggles donned, invincible.

Would the others follow suit, he wondered? He dared to assume so, not ready to admit defeat. Or worse, that he had aided and abetted in the destruction of an entire civilization. They would replicate the pepper bomb, harmless enough (right? -- he begged for this to be the truth), and they would copy the mask. At the very least, two territories would finally stand the chance of combating zenite's effects on their nervous system. His team in the neighboring territory, Ensign Zarath, reported that she believed her community's weapons team had retreated for deliberation.

It took less than 24 hours for his plan to evaporate, to disintegrate like ash in front of him. Instead of replicating a pepper bomb and its companion mask, a toxin, chaotic and untested, was produced that overpowered the flimsy, primitive protective equipment, creeping in through exposed skin and orifices. The effect was powerful, though not instantaneously fatal. Woudros was attacked, the masks discarded in the streets, useless. Leonard found himself laughing hysterically, Dr. Frankenstein, as he and his security detail of two fell seriously ill.

"We're fine, we're great," Leonard slurred when Jim comm'ed him twelve hours later, after waking up to an alert from Sickbay regarding the doctor’s vital signs. Leonard’s eyes were swollen, and he was sweating profusely. "I'm taking care of Rio and Tapora, and we're all fine. No one else was exposed. We're working out the rest of the mission. We’re busy, please."

Two hours later, Leonard’s vitals were barely registering on Jim’s PADD, and no one on the away team was responding to communications. Immediate evacuation was ordered with one more full day left in the mission. Leonard was fast asleep in a medically induced coma to combat his fever, his hand in Spock's, as the Enterprise spirited away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of assisted suicide, a la _Final Frontier_

“We should read to him.” 

Spock looked away from the PADD on his lap and up to McCoy. The doctor almost seemed to be at his leisure exfoliating the captain’s radiated skin, making way for the new. His face was set in concentration but his eyes were soft, filled to the brim with something Spock didn’t know yet, 2259. 

He considered the suggestion with a quiet hum and glanced up to Jim’s vitals. He considered asking the doctor if he thought, under the circumstances, that the captain would be able to hear them -- something Spock seriously doubted. He considered provoking the doctor into admitting out loud that it was something he wanted for his own sake. 

Instead he asked, “What do you think he would like to hear, Doctor?”

* * *

“God, Spock,” Jim groaned, rolling his head from side to side on the back of his chair, restless by Leonard’s bedside. “I can’t stand hearing you read one more Medbay report out loud. Please stop.” 

Spock pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow as he lowered his PADD, placing it crisply on the end table. “It stimulates him.” 

“Surely not.” 

Jim shifted in his chair, scratched his head, crossed his legs, uncrossed them. Spock stayed entirely still, looking toward Leonard but watching Jim, feeling the first hint of amusement since the Enterprise had started on its new course. “Do you need to use the restroom?” he asked eventually, unable to help himself from facing Jim, to reveal himself. 

“Funny,” Jim deadpanned in response, pulling a leg up into his chair and slouching down into his other hip, resting his head against his hand. “Honestly, though, yes.” He sighed deeply. “They’re stripping his Bentman.” 

Spock took in the news, unsurprised, and settled back in his chair. He recalled how Leonard had been humiliated by the limelight of the honor; the self-conscious gravity with which he worked the room preceding the ceremony, the tension that held his posture as his achievements were introduced from a stage. There was a thrill of excitement underneath it all, too, that Spock clung to like a precious jewel. 

Jim had kept his distance from Leonard that evening to avoid distracting attention from him. From his bird’s eye view he had collected a veritable album, snapshots of his Bones, that he reeled through regularly in moments both quiet and otherwise. Leonard’s flushed cheeks, embarrassed, as he posed for photos with important people, shaking their hand in frozen time. The way he leaned back into Spock’s hand, pressed against his lower back, whenever a crowd of people surrounding him would dissipate. How he discreetly ate the stems of fruit as he milled about to avoid carrying what most people considered waste, and his shy grin when he caught Jim watching him. 

There was one actual photo from the evening, a favorite of Leonard’s, that they kept prominently displayed in their quarters. Spock’s grinning widely at the camera with a virgin chocolate martini in his left hand and Jim’s got his head tipped back, laughing out loud. Leonard’s in the middle holding Joanna, long arms wrapped around his shoulders and long legs wrapped around his waist, their cheeks smashed together. You can’t see her green eyes for how her whole face is smiling, and Leonard’s smiling too, hugging her tightly. His eyes are wet and the Bay’s in the background. 

Back in Sickbay Spock brushed his fingers against Leonard’s and sank into the fondness of that memory. Jim shivered in his seat and readjusted. 

“Do you really think he can hear us?” Jim asked, voice soft. 

“Yes.” Spock looked towards Leonard’s office, empty and dark. “Perhaps we should discuss your conversation with Admiral Langif elsewhere.”

Jim poured himself a scotch and slid down into Leonard’s seat as soon as they relocated, tossing his feet up onto the desk and crossing his ankles. “They’ll start with a ship hearing, Langif presiding. Assess the wrongdoing. The sector commander, Bodeau, was calling for dismissal, hence the Bentman.” He rolled the liquid around in his glass. Spock sat on the couch across from the desk and crossed his legs. 

Jim looked up at Spock under his eyebrows, a slight twist in his neck. He cleared his throat and shifted restlessly in Leonard’s chair. “I listened to Bones’ logs from the past few days of the mission,” he began, cautious. Spock turned his head inquiringly. Jim looked away. 

“In his words, his decision to use the compound was a calculated risk. He wanted to give Command a reason to re-extend the mission and thought the mask experiment would be the ticket.” Jim sipped his drink. “What a fucking mess.” 

“You did lead him to believe that Command had reason to consider the proposal.”

Jim scoffed. “I told him that I would talk to them.” His eyes shot up to Spock and then back to his drink, heat rising in his cheeks. “I never specifically said that I would talk to Command about extending the timeline.” 

A shame like hot bile swam in Jim’s gut. The tight line of Spock’s mouth twitched and Jim felt his frustration. 

“I know, Spock.” 

“You knew that Leonard would be emboldened by your suggestion.” 

“I know, I know. But I didn’t think he’d use a pepper-spray projectile against the Remopians!”

“He was under the influence of zenite,” Spock corrected. He breathed deeply and folded his hands in his lap. “Dr. M’Benga found traces in his hair sample, along with the other members of the away team.” His lips turned down in a frown. “Which I expect will present a very unpleasant irony to Leonard when he wakes.”

A knock at the door disturbed them and Spock jerked with the force of Jim’s surprise. His neck flushed green and he shot an accusatory look at Jim as M’Benga stepped into the doorway.

“Captain, Commander. It’s time.” 

* * *

Jim had hoped to enjoy at least a few seconds of Leonard’s warm, sleepy confusion before jumping right into the nasty bits, but Christine beat them to it. By the time he and Spock arrived at Leonard’s bedside he was already barking, _What happened, why am I here._ There was a dread inside of him that suggested he already knew. 

Christine’s face was severe as she finished scanning McCoy and she looked up to Jim and Spock with a deep frown. “It’s alright, Leonard,” she assured quietly, sending a spike of panic through the doctor. He jerked his head to Jim and Spock, eyes wide. Jim gave him a tight grin, rested a hand on his shoulder. 

“Thank you, Nurse Chapel,” Spock dismissed with a bow of his head as Christine gathered her instruments. “We would like to be alone now.” 

“Hey, Bones,” Jim whispered affectionately, rubbing Leonard’s shoulder. “We missed you.”

“Cut the crap, Jim!” Leonard shrugged Jim’s hand off of him, clutched his blanket in fists. His cheeks were red and his face was white. Spock watched his heart rate jump around on the bioscreen behind the bed and found its cacophonic beeping distracting. “What happened? Is my team OK? Where are they? Are we still at Remopia?” 

Jim cleared his throat and straightened his shirt. “No, we’re no longer on Remopia. Your team is here. Rio and Tapora are still asleep. The others were less affected and are resting in their quarters, presumably.” Jim sat down by Leonard’s bedside feeling less restless than before, drawn into the well-versed calm of an expert in the maelstrom. “What do you remember?”

Leonard swallowed and looked down at his fists, concentrating. “I introduced a mild aerosol irritant in Woudros. Drew plans for primitive masks to pair with the goggles they already had.” He turned his head to the side away from Jim and Spock as the memory sharpened behind his eyes. “They adapted it almost immediately. I remember helping Ensign Tapora back to the tent. He was sick … ” The vision was splotched with red and heat as Leonard watched his own hands fumble through his medkit, looking for anything to ease the effects of the toxin. He closed his eyes against the recall. “Fuck,” he groaned. 

Jim cleared his throat against a sudden fire in his chest. He felt Spock’s mind like a salve against his own and hoped Leonard did, too. 

“There were large amounts of a compound the Federation has not yet encountered in your system,” Spock explained. “The most similar Terran comparison we have at this time is capsaicin, but studies continue. It did significant damage to your team’s Eustachian tubes and optic nerves, and there were several cases of severe fever. Your Woudros team was most greatly affected, and each of you had to be placed in a medical coma to treat the damage.” 

“And the Remopians …” 

Spock squeezed Leonard’s leg through his blanket. “Yes.” 

Jim reached for Leonard’s hand as a black like absence of light started to pour through him. Leonard ripped away from him and swung his legs off the side of the bed, facing the opposite wall, shoulders hunched. 

“I killed them.” 

“No,” and “Not deliberately,” Jim and Spock responded simultaneously. Jim shot Spock a furious look which Spock returned with a single raised eyebrow, confused. 

Leonard called for M’Benga and turned his head over his shoulder in the direction of his partners. “I need y’all to leave now,” he said. “The bond is making me sick.” 

* * *

Somewhere around 15k Jim was finally able to pass through the blinding light and into the clear detail of David McCoy. The beat of the track as he ran took him back, back, all the way back to Leonard in his small studio in San Francisco. As if a fly on the wall Jim watched Leonard read from a PADD on the counter, watched him eating his whole grain cereal. He saw himself, a younger man, lounging on the couch, soaking in the lazy day. 

Suddenly Leonard all but dropped his bowl on the counter with a soft _oh_ , milk sloshing out into a small puddle. He braced his hands on either side of the PADD and read whatever it was again, face tight. Jim barely looked up from the brainteaser on his lap. “What’s going on over there, Bones?” 

_Fuck you_ , Jim chided himself. _Get off your ass -- can’t you see he needs you?_

But he didn’t see. Leonard cleared his throat and shut off the PADD. “Nothing,” he said, grabbing for a towel to clean up his spill. “Butterfingers. I have to go, though.” 

Jim snapped to attention then, frowning hugely and sitting up on the sofa. “Why? We were going to go to Point Reyes.” 

Jim’s pace on the track slowed as he watched Leonard walk into the sitting area. How could he have not seen how his fingers were shaking? “Rogers needs a fresh set of eyes at the clinic,” Leonard explained, squatting down in front of him. Had he noticed then that Leonard’s eyes were wet? Jim couldn’t remember, but he hated himself anyway for not doing anything about it. 

Their relationship in those days was hardly chaste and classifiably unromantic. Jim hadn’t known what to think when Leonard pressed their heads together and took his shirt in his hands, when he kissed him with a softness that Jim felt in between his ribs. “I’m sorry,” Jim could still hear Leonard whisper quietly into the space that was between them.

He felt sick watching himself boyishly bop his fist against Leonard’s shoulder, smiling nervously. “Hey, it’s ok.” He had kissed Leonard again, almost dismissively, saying goodbye. Always guarded against some real connection. Instead of asking Leonard what was wrong he had said, “Reyes will be there another day.” 

While Jim was finishing in rec, Spock was idly cataloging data from the astrophysics lab in their quarters. He was lulled into a meditative calm by his incense and a cup of tea when suddenly he felt the phantom weight of Leonard’s temple under the pad of his fingers. Leonard was weeping, wrecked, shuddering. “I didn’t want you to know,” he choked, holding himself. “I’m a monster.” 

Spock felt dizzy. Their bond had been so fresh and foreign then that he began to feel disassociated from himself -- adrift in Leonard’s suffering. The image of his father, David, filled every corner of their shared mind. He felt himself stitched into Leonard’s body, leaning over the old man, gasping and writhing on his biobed, as he hurried to prepare an injection. _Don’t, don’t, don’t_ , Leonard’s mind chanted, but Spock watched his hands proceed against Leonard’s will. In the aftermath Spock felt trapped in Leonard’s skin as he wept by David’s bed, desperate to be away from the gruesome scene.

“I’m a monster,” Leonard continued to cry, his voice an echo in Spock’s mind. Spock was forever away, standing in the kitchen of Jim’s apartment, learning that a cure for the horrific disease that had brought David McCoy to his knees had been discovered. Discovered by a better doctor, a fiercer guardian of human life. He felt the press of Leonard’s lips against Jim’s and felt them, himself and Leonard as one mangled creature, curl in around the shame and the secret, pulling it deeper into their body like a grenade. Hoping in the quietest corner of themself to bare it open, to reveal the unimaginable pain. 

“No,” Spock managed to say, shocked to find himself back in front of Leonard, separated and shaking horribly. He dropped to his knees in front of him. Something overwhelmed his animal instinct to flee the flame as he clutched onto Leonard, held him. Who was he now? He kissed Leonard’s face, kept them afloat on their scrap of wood in the limitless ocean. “We are not monsters.”

Jim whisked into their quarters and found Spock clutching their desk, breathing sharply through the traumatic memory. Their eyes caught and they both knew that none of them were free. 

* * *

It was a strange predicament -- wanting and also not wanting to be near a loved one. Leonard troubled over it. Compounded by the other troubles he was left exhausted and disoriented. Numb. 

“I’m ready to get out’a here, Geoffrey.”

M’Benga hummed with consideration and continued looking at Leonard’s chart, reaching over every once in a while to lift Leonard’s eyelids. 

“Will you stop that?” Leonard barked on the fifth lift, smacking Geoffrey’s hand away. “Jesus. They’re the same, ok? I’ll call if I feel unwell. Clear me.”

“You’ve undergone a major trauma, Leo.” Geoffrey frowned and, after a pause, tossed Leonard’s chart onto the bedside table. “You should stay. Let us make sure you’re in top shape and get you working with one of the counselors before you go.”

Leonard glared at him from under his brow, the lines of his face accentuating his frown. “You’re a good guy, Goeffrey,” he allowed. “Remember what you know about me for a second. I need to go.”

M’Benga worried his lower lip between his teeth, nearly imperceptible, and looked toward the time in the corner of Leonard’s bioscreen. “Look, I’m sure Jim and Spock will be by right at the end of alpha. Probably sooner. You can go with them. I don’t want you to go alone.”

“I’m specifically avoiding Jim and Spock, Doctor.” Leonard started to climb out of the bed, confident of his victory, and blinked against the spots that swam in his vision. Geoffrey reached out a hand to help steady him and Leonard swatted it away gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell them I snuck out while you were tending to another patient. Thank you.”

It took mere moments for Leonard to bitterly suppose that M’Benga was right, sweating as he was from weakness, wobbling down the corridors in patient scrubs and slippers. Ensigns caught his eye in the corridor, concerned, and he all but growled back. _If they call Jim, I swear to God I’ll_ \-- 

The relief he experienced at arriving successfully to his quarters was suffocated by the sense of horror he felt at its normalcy. As if nothing had happened. Leonard shoved the beast down and remembered to automate his experience, to keep his head above water. He needed coffee and he needed to take off these damn scrubs.

The next thing he knew he was in front of his comm screen, sipping his coffee, watching a message from Jo. “Daddy,” she started crisply, smiling, her hands folded on the desk in front of her. “Jim told me you’re on a mission, so when you’re back I need you to do something right away. Grandma is talking Mom into getting me a horse!” She squealed, squeezing her fingers and beaming at the screen. “Anyway, please, _please_ , tell Mom you think it’s a good idea. She’s worried that I wouldn’t take care of it but I will!” She looked at him seriously -- Leonard thought, too seriously. Wasn’t she still little? “You know I will, Dad. And also even if I fall I won’t be scared and I’ll still love it. You know how I broke my arm last year and it wasn’t even a big deal.” Leonard felt his eyes fill up, felt himself crying into his damn coffee. “Sorry this is all about me,” she said, and Leonard laughed wetly. “Send me a message when you get back. Or send Mom a message first and then me. Either way.” She laughed. “I love you.”

Leonard wanted to comm Jocelyn, wanted Jo to have a horse. He wanted her to have everything. Instead his head fell to his arm, spread long on the table. A few tears came. Heavy enough to fall through the earth, his mind strayed back to Remopia. Strayed back to them … 

Spock was standing by Jim on the bridge when he felt it. Jim’s eyes flickered up to Spock’s and he shifted slightly in his chair, straightened his shirt. “You’re dismissed, Commander.”

* * *

Leonard was in the mess with Scotty by the time Spock found him. Both men were halfway through what looked to Spock to be a replicated pot roast. Scotty was talking loudly and Leonard was nodding along, shoulders slumped like someone was forcing his face into the mud.

“Mr. Spock!” Scotty announced when Spock moved in to sit next to Leonard. “I was just catching McCoy up on that comet that passed while we were docked.” 

“Yes.” Spock looked at Leonard, to his dark eyes and damp forehead. He had changed into civilian clothes. “I’m sure Leonard’s eager to debrief. We even have a meeting set up for that specific purpose tomorrow.”

“Before the hearing,” Scotty added, making a sucking noise at Leonard and raising his eyebrows. “That is going to be _harsh_. Langif is a nightmare.” 

Leonard laughed and Spock felt the urge to throw him over his shoulder, to whisk him away. “It’s alright,” he said, taking another bite and dabbing a napkin against his mouth. He knew Spock must sense the effort in his appetite. “There’s no changing what happened. There’s only moving forward.” 

Scotty raised his glass to that and Spock turned to Leonard more fully, agitated. “Leonard,” he said sternly, placing his hand on Leonard’s thigh. “I think you ought to get more rest. I can walk with you back to our quarters.” 

“No,” Leonard said sharply, meeting Spock’s eye. A jolt of memory, _I’m a monster_ , flashed through Spock’s mind and caught him off guard. He blinked to recover and Leonard was already looking away, back to Scotty, taking his final bite. “I’ve been asleep for days, after all. Scotty’s got the evening off so we’re going to catch up for a bit and then I’ll come on home.” He flashed a facsimile of his usual grin. “Thanks for stopping by, though.” 

Scotty sighed as they dumped their dishes and left the mess, the sensation of Spock’s glare boring into his spinal cord very, very present. “You’re lucky I like you, McCoy,” he warned under his breath. 

“Yeah, yeah,” McCoy agreed grumpily, limping alongside him into the corridor. “I’m sorry. I just … ” He looked to Scotty from the corner of his eye and found him frowning, hands swinging at his side. “There’s nowhere for me to be alone anymore.”

“So you stalked me down?” Scotty turned to him, laughed. “I’m only joking. You can stay with Keenser and me as long as you want, lad.”

Leonard collapsed weightily onto Scotty’s couch when they arrived at his quarters. His eyes closed as he listened to Scotty wriggle the cork out of a bottle. He heard two glasses and a bottle hit the table in front of him. “I only look tired,” he offered, opening his eyes with effort and grinning a shy thing. “Thanks for this.” 

Scotty raised his glass and smacked his lips. “So.” He took a strong sip and leaned back in his chair. “Did you mean what you said to Spock? That you’re already on the journey of looking up ‘n out?”

“Hell no.” Leonard rubbed his hand across his face. “God, I feel like shit. And you know, there’s this thing that keeps eating at me, it’s been eating at me for weeks.”

“What’s that?” Scotty asked, calmly sipping his drink and sidestepping Leonard’s anguish. Leonard loved him for that. 

“Why did Command decide to shorten the mission in the middle of it?” 

He had run through the question a million times. It couldn’t have been the crew deaths, the most recent of which had happened a week before the order came down. Starfleet had made it very clear that they were pleased with the work but wanted more, more -- as did Leonard, as did his team. It had been this thought that startled him awake in Sickbay, his first thought in the real world. 

“Oh, that’s easy,” Scotty said, nodding towards his personal viewport. “Jim withdrew his request for the extended timeline.”

There was no way for Leonard to know what expression he took on in response to Scotty’s words. He heard them reverberate in his head, slowed down. He saw Scotty’s mouth form around them, saw his shoulders shrug. He felt his blood run cold and was sure he’d lost control of his grasp, dropped his cup, before he glanced down and saw it still in his hand. “McCoy?” he heard, disembodied, as if a whisper through the pines. “Scotty to McCoy, hello?” 

“I’m fine,” Leonard barked when he came to, blinking rapidly. He sat his drink down. “Sorry, I mean -- I’m fine.” He scrubbed his hands across his face and then stood, dismissed himself to the bathroom. Once there he stood dumbly in the middle of it, staring down at his hands and resisting the urge to look at himself in the mirror. _You’re embarrassing himself_ , his southern gentile hissed as he melted down in Scotty’s bathroom, breathing raggedly and thinking of Jim. He undressed quickly and stood in Scotty’s sonic shower, begging himself to calm down. He thought of Joanna’s horse and wondered what she would name it. He thought of how his mother had cried when he told her his father had passed away. 

When he came back out Scotty was pacing the floor, both of their glasses drained. “Jesus, McCoy,” he pleaded, eyes wide and hands on his hips. “I’m sorry, lad, I didn’t know. The senior staff, we all got a transcript of the request, I only assumed --” 

Leonard waved him off and grinned tightly, desperate to leave. Scotty stopped in the way of the door and gestured to the couch. “Stay,” he insisted. “I have extra pillows and all. Pajamas. You don’t have to go.” 

“No,” Leonard insisted back, as politely as possible. “No, really, Scotty. Thank you.” 

He left promptly and wandered out in the corridor, yearning for fresh air, knowing simultaneously that fresh air wasn't an option and that he had no idea what came next. 

* * *

“Computer.” Jim drummed his fingers against his leg and looked at Spock across the room.”Check Leonard McCoy’s location again.” 

“McCoy, Leonard. Observation deck three.”

Jim rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and stilled. What was he doing in there? “He’s been in there for three hours.” Spock already knew, of course, counting the seconds as he had been since he last saw Leonard in the officer’s mess. 

“You said he left with Scotty and told you that he’d come home right after they, what? Caught up?” It made Jim feel better to run through the mystery again, only for the twentieth time. His stomach clenched with a fear that Scotty would catch Leonard up before he could. The pain was a shock after so many years spent without the suspicion of information leaking, as it were -- after so many years of transparency. 

“Yes,” Spock replied simply, perched at their desk like a stone idol. Jim could feel him inside like a buoy on troubled waters and sat up straighter in his chair, cleared his throat. Tried to make it easier for him. 

“We can’t sit here like this anymore,” he decided finally. He drew on his boots. “I’m playing the husband card. Be right back.”

And Spock let him, much to Jim’s surprise, without a hint of fight. It was hard for him, Jim knew, to gauge his interactions with them when they were unwell. He was improving significantly with the bond as a cheat sheet. His instinct before had been to be  _ right there _ \-- all warmth, soothing scents, tea. He had the effect of whisking every trouble away for a moment. Even thinking back to it, walking through the corridor to deck three, Jim felt sleepier, calmer, safer. The trouble was that the moment ended, as all moments do, and when the time for talking came Spock could not help but to be honest. Well -- to him it was honest. Jim and Leonard had often called it cruel. 

He stepped back in a major way once the bond had settled and he was exposed to the havoc his attempts to talk through a crisis wreacked. Too far away, and for months. It was as if he didn’t trust himself to be there, just like he hadn’t trusted himself to watch Joanna by himself, to gain her trust and affection.  _ You have to try_, they told him, all patience and compassion when times were good and the practice was easy. And he did try, bless his massive green heart. He tried so hard. But for all of his effort, Jim was glad to be heading to deck three alone. 

Jim’s gut felt transformed into one big knot by the time he arrived at the deck, bandaged over by a bone-deep magnetism toward Leonard that never did seem to go away, even when things were bad. He stopped to ask the computer who was in the observation deck and was relieved when it chimed back with only one name. 

The deck was dark and empty when Jim stepped in, filled with starlight from the viewports that lined it. He glanced around to take his bearings and saw the outline of Leonard’s head, bent down, scooted so close to the viewport that his nose might as well be pressed up against the glass. Strange, Jim thought, that someone so averse to the vastness of space ought to be in such a location. He grabbed a glass of water from the replicator by the entrance. 

Leonard was fast asleep when Jim settled into the chair closest to him. He held the glass of water in his hand and took Leonard in, all pale skin, damp, splotchy and bruised. Jim needed to get him home but hesitated to wake him. Instead he looked out into the endless horizon, felt the sensation of the warp drive he knew well, and tried to center himself. Already he felt better with Leonard there, so close he could touch him. Safe. 

He wasn’t sure how many moments passed before Leonard snorted himself away, his head shooting up and his eyes wide, as if he hadn’t known he had been asleep. Jim startled out of his reverie as well, jerking in his chair. The adrenaline faded quickly and he laughed. Leonard didn’t. 

“Good God,” he whispered sharply, turning his head away from the viewport and shielding his eyes with his hand. “I thought I was going to tumble right out into damn space!” 

Jim resisted the urge to laugh louder and took Leonard’s hand when he reached out, helped guide him blindly through the room and away from the viewport. “I was surprised you picked that spot,” he said as Leonard settled heavily into a new chair. “There’s a glass of water.” 

“Yeah, well.” Leonard chugged the glass whole in one go and then wiped his mouth, his forehead. “Staring into the abyss while it stares back into you, so on. I didn’t expect to fall asleep.” He closed his eyes again and rolled his neck, popping it here and there. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Jim smirked at him and then gestured out towards the viewport, crossed his legs. “Just the view, probably. Seemed like a nice place to spend three hours quietly sitting by myself.”

Leonard scoffed, rolled his eyes. They sat in silence. Jim watched Leonard’s face and drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair. Leonard blinked with effort against the starlight and avoided Jim’s gaze. 

“Bones?” Jim whispered after the silence had already stretched on for too long. He realized he was clutching onto the armchair and forced his fingers to relax. Cleared his throat. “How was Scotty?”

“He was fucking great, Jim.” Leonard slouched back in his seat and glanced over briefly. “You put him in a real awkward position with me, you know. No way for him to know I was the only person in the damn universe that didn’t know you were cutting the mission short. Nasty surprise for him when I had a panic attack in his bathroom.”

“I was afraid that would happen,” Jim confessed. “I’m sorry. I specifically asked Geoffrey to wait for Spock and me to come get you from Sickbay, to keep you from -- ”

“From what, Jim? What?” Leonard was clearly awake now, his voice rising. He clenched his fists where they rested and shook his head. The effort was such an extreme burden on his burnt tethers that Jim recoiled in on himself where he sat. “What was your play, even? You were just going to hold me hostage in your glass house? I’m up in front of the senior staff in less than 12 hours!” 

“I know, Bones!” 

Jim was clutching the arms of his chair again. Leonard’s foot was bouncing against the ground. “Don’t you yell at me, Jim,” he warned. 

“I know,” Jim said, voice softened by guilt. “I’m sorry. I -- You -- ” He scrubbed his hands over his face again and breathed deeply. “I was going to explain what happened, but I wanted to give you a chance to recuperate. Take a nap, be at home. You were so off-balance when you woke up. It’ll all make so much more sense when you have a chance to settle back in.”

“That is unbelievable,” Leonard barked weakly. He started to shake with the strain and it felt like the wind had left his sails entirely, like he would never have strength again. “The blood I have on my hands, Jim … it could drown us all. Capsize this ship.” He stood up on wobbly legs and supported his weight on the back of his chair. “I’m not runnin’ away from you, Jim, but I can’t be near you either.”

Jim thought about stopping him. He thought about stopping him during their whole slow march as he followed Leonard like a ghost down crew corridors emptied by the shift. He watched Leonard stagger with his head held high yards in front of him, numbed by indecision.

By the time Leonard reached the temporary quarters of the ship he was drenched in sweat, his breath choppy and labored. He gasped out his override codes and chanced one look over to Jim, standing at the end of the corridor. Jim raised his hand in a final wave and then Leonard was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leonard’s real _Cry_ by Ashnikko rn but he’s way more _What Once Was_ by Hers soon lmao xo 
> 
> Anyway, this was extremely difficult to write :’( Thank you for reading xo


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